


(i'm in love with) the shape of you

by WeeBeastie



Series: after all verse [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: John Silver has a tramp stamp, M/M, Rimming, Shades of PWP, Tattoo Kink, old pirate husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: i'm in love with your bodyevery day discovering something brand newi'm in love with the shape of you





	(i'm in love with) the shape of you

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece set in the ‘after all’ verse, because I can’t get enough of my old pirate husbands. If you haven’t read at least the first part of the series, you might want to or this fic could be confusing.
> 
> I’ve mentioned Silver’s numerous tattoos a few times in the other fics in this verse but I realized I hadn’t really gotten into detail about them and obviously I’ll gladly wax poetic about Silver and his fine body any day of the week. Dedicated to Elle for chatting with me about Silver and his tattoos and helping me figure out exactly what direction I wanted this work to go in. She is so patient and encouraging and lets me talk her ear off. Thank you Elle, this is for you! <3
> 
> Rated E because these old pirate husbands, they just can’t keep their hands off each other. Title and description borrowed from ‘Shape of You’ by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> I’m not sure about the historical accuracy of someone in the golden age of piracy having a lot of brightly-colored tattoos, but the colors of Silver’s tattoos are important to me so I’m just gonna handwave that, okay? Okay.

It's morning on a Saturday, and Silver is still sleeping but Flint has been awake for some time. He doesn't want to get out of bed and leave Silver alone, but he's starting to get restless. He glances up from his book and examines Silver, taking in his warm, sleeping form. His silver-kissed hair is a mess around his face, his expression relaxed and peaceful, his eyelashes dark and soft against his cheeks. He's got his hands up by his face the way he usually does when he's deep asleep, one hand so close to his face it's almost pressed against his mouth.

Flint sets his book down and begins idly cataloging the tattoos that he can see on Silver, counting them to himself. Silver is lying on his side facing Flint, and has thrown the sheet off in his sleep, overheated, so Flint can see a good deal of the ink that decorates his nude body. He's more warm-blooded than Flint in that way, and tends to sleep bare and throw the bedclothes off himself even on cool nights. Flint isn't complaining.

On Silver’s knuckles he can see careful black lettering, neat lines that spell out ‘SINK’ on the fingers of his right hand and ‘SWIM’ on those of his left. On his chest is a perpetually scowling mermaid with long red-gold hair and green eyes that would've once been vibrant and arresting, but are now faded, owing to time and sun exposure. She's got her arms crossed over her ample bosom and her expression is one of mild annoyance. On the left side of Silver’s chest, directly over his heart, is a large blooming red rose surrounded by thorns, bracketed by the words ‘To the Grave’ in a flowery, curling hand.

Flint realizes two things as his eyes roam freely over Silver’s shape and his tattoos. One, he hasn't yet found the opportunity to ask Silver for any of the stories behind his tattoos since they reunited and Silver moved in with him. Two, Silver is awake, silently watching Flint admire him.

“Morning,” Silver greets him sleepily, stretching his arms over his head and then propping himself up on an elbow, reaching out to rest his hand on Flint’s knee through the sheet. “How long have you been awake?” he asks, blinking owlishly. He's usually slow to wake up unless there's something that requires his immediate attention, and Flint finds it sweet in a peculiar way that he can't quite name.

“Just a little while,” Flint says, putting his hand over Silver’s where it rests on his knee. “I was taking advantage of the opportunity to look at your tattoos while you're naked and lying still,” he explains, smiling at him crookedly.

“Look all you like, that's what they're there for,” Silver says with a muzzy smile, still half-asleep.

Flint’s eyes travel lower, taking in the skull wreathed in roses on Silver’s abdomen, and the curiously small, faded crescent moon that curves around his navel. It looks old, even older than the mermaid on his chest.

“When did you get that?” Flint asks, reaching out to brush his fingers over the washed out blue-black ink of the tattoo. It looks nearly identical to the one Flint has on his own bicep.

Silver takes a long time to answer, and if Flint isn't mistaken he's blushing a little when he finally speaks. “Right after you and I parted ways in Savannah,” he says, not looking at Flint. “As soon as I returned to Madi, actually. One of the men on her island did it for me.”

“It hasn't escaped my notice that you copied my one little tattoo, and had it put on a very vulnerable and rather intimate part of yourself,” Flint rumbles. Impulsively he slides close to Silver, leaning in to put his mouth on the crescent moon and follow the curve of it with his tongue.

Silver inhales sharply, twitching under Flint’s mouth and making a soft noise of pleasure. “I needed to carry a piece of you with me,” he says, stroking one hand gently over Flint’s hair. “I couldn't admit that to myself at the time, but that's what I was doing, getting that tattoo. It was my very first.”

“The first of many,” Flint says, lying back and letting his eyes roam over Silver’s body. “If I ask you about all the others, will you just spin me a story? Or may I request the truth?” he asks, affectionately tracing the crescent moon with one finger over and over. “There may be a reward for you if you submit to my nosy inquiries,” he adds, arching an eyebrow at Silver expectantly.

“A reward, you say,” Silver says, looking down at him with that particular wolfish grin he gets when he has some explicit ideas involving himself and Flint. “Ask whatever you like about them, you'll get the truth,” he says decisively, lying back to submit to Flint’s examination.

Flint sits up to get a better look, his eyes raking over Silver. “I don't need an explanation for your mermaid friend, there. I mean, really. Red hair and green eyes, and she looks annoyed with you?” he asks, smirking down at Silver.

“I’m not very subtle,” Silver agrees, shrugging like he can't be expected to help that. “That was my second one.”

“And this? It's a little dramatic, don't you think, with the words,” Flint says, putting his palm on the blooming, thorny rose over Silver’s heart.

“A rose is supposed to mean new beginnings, hope, things like that. But when you add thorns the meaning changes to darker feelings - loss, regret. The words...at one point in my life I thought I would be carrying around that loss and regret until I died,” Silver says, clearing his throat and looking mildly unnerved. It's difficult for him to talk this frankly, which Flint can appreciate. He moves on.

“What about this?” he asks, sliding his hand down Silver’s chest to touch the skull wreathed in multicolored roses. The skull itself has deep green emeralds in its eye sockets.

“Mm, it's embarrassing. That one doesn't really mean anything except I had a blank spot to fill and wanted something that looked good,” Silver admits, chuckling.

“Fair enough,” Flint says, shaking his head in amusement. “Now this one, this is a beauty,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down Silver’s torso and past the crescent moon, skirting his groin to rest his palm on the large blue-green octopus that covers what remains of Silver’s left thigh. Its tentacles wrap all the way around.

“They’re supposed to be good at hiding, octopuses. Octopi? Anyway. They can change themselves so they blend into anything, and it's hard to see them if they don't wish to be seen. Something about that appealed to me,” Silver says, glancing at Flint.

“I see,” he says quietly, regarding Silver. He reaches out to take his left arm in both hands, manipulating Silver like a not particularly compliant doll. “And here you have an anchor with the name Madi on it, and some kind of...devil monster.”

“The anchor, that was a grand romantic gesture that went completely wrong, alas. I meant it to symbolize how she tethered me and kept me grounded in our life together, in a positive way. I thought it would help prove to her how much I loved her. But she just saw it as me expressing how much she weighed me down,” Silver says with a regretful sigh. “The devil monster is called an oni. I had it done in Asia, it's a traditional type of demon creature over there. On that voyage I was despondent and self-pitying; Madi had just left me and I was angry at myself for making her suffer so, and I felt tremendous guilt for it all too. A monster for a monster,” he says, his face screwing into a frown.

Flint brings Silver’s hand to his lips and gently kisses the letters on his knuckles. “Sink or swim,” he reads, letting go of his left arm and picking up his right instead. “That is rather self-explanatory, as are the swallows here on your forearm. I didn't know you'd traveled so far.”

“By rights I should have eight or ten swallows on me by now, with how much time I spent at sea,” Silver says, shaking his head at himself. “I am running out of room though, and I have such a low tolerance for pain.” That's something he's said often before, which Flint has never really understood. Silver seems to him to have quite a high tolerance for pain, on the contrary.

“Let’s see. Here we have another anchor, done in a slightly different style. A different person’s work, clearly. There's a letter J below it as well,” Flint observes, examining Silver’s right bicep.

“That, I told myself, symbolized being my own tether and finding my way on my own after Madi left. The fact that I just had a J put on and not my whole name...I'm sure you can guess who I was really thinking about,” he says, looking fleetingly into Flint’s eyes.

Fling feels a little shiver go through him and gently lets go of Silver’s arm, instead picking up his right leg and settling it across his lap. “A pig and a rooster, to keep you from drowning,” he observes, touching Silver’s right foot gently.

Silver twitches and squirms, trying not to let on how ticklish his remaining foot is. “Mhm. I know you're supposed to get one on each foot but, well. Needs must.”

“Yes,” Flint says, stroking one hand lightly up Silver’s leg and enjoying how he writhes. “A big black dragon on your lower leg, here. Another memento from Asia,” he guesses.

“Ahh-- yes. Singapore, that time,” Silver says, biting back a laugh at the light, tickling feel of Flint’s fingers on his leg.

“I recognize this,” Flint all but purrs, putting one hand over the tattoo on Silver’s right thigh, digging his fingers in just a little. Every time he sees it, inked there on Silver’s bare vulnerable skin, his heart speeds up a touch.

“The banner of Captain Flint,” Silver says with an almost embarrassed smile. “And the word ‘freedom’ there under it, that's because you used to talk to me about how there was such freedom to be had in the darkness,” he says, getting a faraway look on his face as he remembers.

“It made an impact on you, clearly. Sometimes I wasn't sure you listened at all when I spoke,” Flint teases, making Silver laugh. “And this,” he says, fingers walking up Silver’s leg to his hip, tracing the lines of a fearsome shark that curves along his hipbone, almost into his groin. “I’ve known sailors to get a shark tattooed to show they don't fear death, or to prove their bravery. But for you somehow I think this is more...personal.”

“A memento of an experience I'll never forget, yes,” Silver confirms, smiling softly at Flint. He reaches out to draw him into a kiss, pulling back after a moment, just enough to speak. His lips brush Flint’s as he talks. “I started to fall truly in love with you in that tiny fucking boat, hunting sharks together. I didn't really know it at the time, I thought I was just delirious,” he jokes, nipping Flint’s lower lip.

“Mm,” Flint hums in satisfaction as he sits back, giving Silver’s hip an affectionate pat. “Turn over so I can see the ones on your back,” he requests, enjoying this freedom to explore Silver’s body and get to know him that much better.

Silver rolls on to his stomach with a quiet groan, folding his arms and resting his head on them. “You must see those all the time, I would think you're pretty familiar with them by now,” he says, his head turned so he can smirk at Flint.

“Usually I find that I'm a little preoccupied,” Flint says, grabbing a handful of Silver’s bottom and squeezing just because he can. Silver’s breath hitches and he pushes back against Flint’s hand eagerly. “Moving on,” Flint says, and Silver grumbles. “I see you have a compass rose on your shoulder, so you'll always know the way home. I bite down on that one all the time. It has my teeth marks bruised into it just now, in fact, from two days ago on the floor of the sitting room.”

“There’s some kind of poetry in that, I think. Your teeth marks on the thing that helped me find home,” Silver muses, almost to himself.

Flint smiles, his hand moving from Silver’s arse to his back, smoothing tenderly over the huge portrait of a sailing ship that takes up most of the space between his shoulders and extends down to the small of his back. “This is the Walrus, if my old eyes don't deceive me.”

“It’s her, all right,” Silver agrees, turning a charming pink with embarrassment. Until this particularly intimate exploration, Flint hadn't realized just how many of Silver’s tattoos had to do with him. He thinks Silver hadn't really either.

“Beautiful. But this one here below her, it's an unfortunate cliche and not nearly as well done as your others. A skull and bones with ‘dead men tell no tales,’ _really_ John?” he asks. “You were a pirate, I suppose.”

“I cannot be held responsible for that tattoo. I got drunk in Tortuga with this absolutely mad captain called Sparrow, blacked out, and when I came to the next day I had that regrettable thing. Right there above my arse forever,” Silver says, laughing at himself.

“It wouldn't look as good on anyone else as it does on you, even if it is fucking stupid,” Flint assures him, leaning down to kiss the tattoo reverently. “And now at last we come to your final tattoo,” he says, pulling back to look at the tattoo on the back of Silver’s right thigh. It's a detailed scene of a skeleton and a man both reaching for the same bleeding heart, with a banner underneath that reads ‘If love is not madness it is not love’ in meandering, spidery letters. “Do you believe this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the indelible words.

“I did, once,” Silver says, raising his head to look over his shoulder at Flint for a long moment. They're so happy together now, it's easy for Flint to forget how difficult it could be during the long years they were apart. “In some ways I still do. Not necessarily all-consuming, stark raving madness, but love is a certain kind of madness, surely. Loving someone...it robs you of your better judgment, sometimes, and makes you want to give all of yourself to them, come what may. It can drive a man to do outrageous things. I'm sure you understand.”

“Like tracking an old love down and confessing your feelings to him in the middle of the night after many years apart?” Flint asks needlessly, smiling to himself, thumb still caressing the words of the tattoo.

“Mm, yes. Something like that,” Silver agrees, his hips shifting restlessly against the soft sheets. Evidently Flint’s gentle but pointed touches are having an effect on him.

Flint settles on his stomach between Silver’s thighs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to that last tattoo of his. “I think I said something about rewarding you for your cooperation,” he says, biting Silver’s leg none too gently.

Silver makes a soft noise and pushes himself up on one arm, twisting to look over his shoulder at Flint. “Get on with it, then,” he rumbles, his eyes gone wide and dark with lust.

Flint doesn't need to be told twice. He places his hands on Silver’s hips and kisses his way up from the tattoo, then spreads Silver’s cheeks apart with his thumbs. He gives his tailbone a lingering, smacking kiss, then swipes his tongue over him wetly.

Silver keens at the first brush of Flint’s tongue, his hands curling in the sheets and his hips rolling under Flint’s hands, already trying to press back against his face. “Fuck, yes,” he grits out.

Flint lavishes attention on him, slowly working him open with his tongue until he can press it inside. He's dimly aware of Silver cursing and writhing, pushing himself back against Flint’s face in an effort to get his tongue deeper. Flint can't help but give him what he wants, thrusting his tongue into him and gripping his arse tight in both hands.

“Ah, James, more, _please_ ,” Silver begs him, and Flint can feel him starting to tremble apart under his hands and his mouth. Flint is already hard, and he knows how desperately hard Silver must be, too, if he's resorted to begging.

Flint slides one hand over next to his face and starts easing his thumb into Silver alongside his tongue, spreading him open wider and getting his tongue in even deeper. He's letting himself get lost in it now, feeling his cock harden further at the noises Silver is making just for him. He knows he's good at this, and Silver appreciating his skills so vociferously makes him feel a smug, heady mix of pride and arousal that he's always been partial to.

He thrusts his tongue in and out of Silver quickly for long moments, then pulls back to lick him relentlessly while still teasing him with his thumb. He can hear how breathless and high-pitched Silver’s voice has gone, and the sound of him losing his mind over Flint’s skilled tongue makes it impossible for Flint to hold off any longer. He's so achingly hard, he just has to get his hand on himself. He sits up, keeping his thumb just inside Silver, and uses his other hand to yank his breeches open. He gets his hand around himself and jerks his cock frantically, seeing stars as he comes in a rush all over the ridiculous tattoo on the small of Silver’s back.

Silver shouts, pounding one fist against the bed. “James, fuck! Come on, I need you,” he gasps, and Flint eases his thumb out of him, taking a moment to catch his breath. He runs his fingers through the mess he's just made on Silver’s back, using his own come as lubrication to press two fingers into Silver.

Silver, unsurprisingly, goes completely incoherent. He gets his one knee under him and pushes unsteadily back against Flint’s fingers, his cries muffled by the pillow he's hiding his face in. Flint braces his other hand on Silver’s hip, following the desperate rhythm of his hips as they stutter frantically, getting his fingers deep inside him. He curls his fingers and rubs that particular spot in him, and Silver pounds his fist against the bed again, the tense set of his shoulders proving to Flint just how much delicious torture he's going through.

Finally Flint takes pity on Silver and withdraws his fingers, admiring the scene one more time before he grabs Silver by the hips and flips him over on to his back.

Silver’s eyes are glassy and there are tears of frustrated arousal on his face, he's gotten so very worked up by Flint’s ministrations. He hasn't touched himself at all, and it's clear how close to the edge he's been for some time. His whole upper half is flushed red, and his cock is so hard it's leaking steadily on to his stomach, practically purple. Flint takes him in hand and Silver screws his eyes shut, thrusting up into Flint’s fist and coming within moments. His mouth opens but there's no sound except his gasping for air as his come paints his body, all the way up to the disapproving ginger mermaid.

“Ahh, fucking hell, you almost killed me with all that,” Silver finally manages to say after a minute, his voice hoarse. “But somehow I knew it would end well for me if I seduced you with my tattoos,” he pants as he recovers, chest heaving, eyes still shut. “Did I feel you come _directly_ on to that one on my back?” he asks, grinning.

“Yes,” Flint says, lying down next to him in bed. He reaches out to rub Silver’s come into his tanned, inked skin, making it so it follows the shape of the crescent moon on his belly. “You gave me a perfect target, what else was I going to do?” he rumbles, sighing with contentment and leaning over to lick a stripe of come off Silver’s chest.

“You're filthy,” Silver says appreciatively, shivering at the feel of Flint’s tongue on his skin. “Y’know, I had thought before that you might have a bit of an...affinity for my tattoos, but now I'm certain of it,” he says, finally opening his eyes and barking out an exhausted laugh when he sees how Flint has rubbed his come all over his crescent moon. “Oh, very nice,” he says, shaking his head.

“It’s appropriate - I made you come on the tattoo that you copied from me, after I came on one of your other tattoos. It's gone full circle,” Flint says, well aware that he's not making much sense but not really having it in him to care.

“I can't say I follow your logic, but I also can't really think yet anyway,” Silver says. He runs his hand over his chest, gathering a little of his come and reaching out to paint it on Flint’s matching small crescent moon tattoo. “There. Now we're even,” he jokes, then offers his hand to Flint.

Flint obliges him and sucks his fingers clean, again tasting the sharp, familiar saltiness of Silver. “Mm. You know it's not just your tattoos I like, of course,” he says, pressing his cheek to Silver’s hand and looking into his eyes.

“You also like my muscles and my arse and my hair, yes, I know,” Silver says with a cheeky grin. Sometimes after a particularly good orgasm he becomes smug and just a little insufferable. It should be irritating, but Flint finds it endearing, as well as a sign of a job well done.

“For years, I imagined what you looked like as you got older. I'd wonder if you cut your hair, if in fact you'd gotten any tattoos, if you still had your earring or not. I'd look at myself aging, see the new lines on my face and the white in my hair, and I'd think about you and wonder,” Flint explains, tracing one hand over the lines of Silver’s broad shoulders and hard chest. “Then when you arrived here and I finally saw you again it was like...like nothing I'd imagined could even begin to compare. I didn't think I could be even more attracted to you than I was when you were an impudent 30-something with a silly excuse for a beard, and yet,” Flint says, chuckling.

“My beard was not silly,” Silver argues, and Flint knows his speech must've had an effect on him if he's so quickly resorted to bickering. “It does look better now that I'm older, I'll grant you, but some of us can't just grow massive ginger beards practically overnight for a lark.”

“Still impudent, that's clearly not changed,” Flint says, sitting up with a groan. “I need a bath, and I'm certain you do too. I'll draw us one,” he says, pushing his breeches the rest of the way off and getting out of bed.

“Just so we're clear, I find this version of you ridiculously attractive as well,” Silver says, folding his arms behind his head so his muscles flex. He grins at Flint, his eyes shining. “Even though I do miss the red of your hair. I always wondered if _all_ your hair was red, everywhere. All over. You know.”

“It was. Little shit,” Flint says, fondly, then leans down to the bed to kiss Silver tenderly. He leaves him to doze in bed while he draws a bath for the two of them to share, idly thinking about getting another tattoo himself. A smirking, blue-eyed mermaid with wild dark curls, perhaps.


End file.
